


Lipstick on your Collar

by anythingpastorpresent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Jealous Sam Winchester, Jealousy, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingpastorpresent/pseuds/anythingpastorpresent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's there to talk about?" Sam says, and Dean can not believe he just felt his heart break a little at the broken expression in Sam's face. "You're right. You <em>do</em> have one night stands all the time-even with your <em>brother</em>." He laughs bitterly. "I don't know why I expected anything different."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick on your Collar

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally wrote this as part of a crossover fic I was planning, which I never actually wrote, so I decided to take out the crossover parts and post it as a standalone fic.

"You have lipstick on your mouth."

Dean can feel Sam's glare on him, but even if he couldn't, he would still know exactly how his brother's face looks judging by the tone of his voice alone. And he can also tell that Sam is pissed, even if he won't come out and say it. "So?" he asks, sounding bored.

Sam looks away, practically pouting. Dean knows that if he wants to know exactly what's ticked his brother off, he's going to have to coax the words out of him, and he's not exactly in the mood right now. "So...nevermind," Sam says in a way that implies if Dean doesn't know what's wrong, he doesn't deserve to know.

Dean sighs. "Sammy." Sam looks at him and Dean feels his annoyance start to melt, genuine concern for his brother replacing it. "If you've got a problem, come out and say it. I'm not going to wait around for hours catering to your feelings."

Sam's face flushes red, and for once Dean can't tell if it's out of anger or embarrassment. "You know what's wrong," he says darkly.

Dean just gives him a puzzled look.

Sam is glaring now. "Dean. The lipstick?"

Dean's hand flies up to his face of its own accord, and flashes of the night before flood his memory. He doesn't particularly want to remember, which is worrying in and of itself. He can't remember her name, but he knows that if he'd met her six months ago, their one night together would've been the night of his life.

"Sammy, are you jealous?" he teases lightly, deciding to play it cool and pretend it wasn't that big of a deal, even though he knows it's anything but. Especially to Sam.

His brother's expression only darkens further, and he can see Sam is about to get up and walk away. "Wait," Dean says, standing up from where he's sitting on the bed and reaching out to Sam.

"I can't believe you, Dean," Sam says, and now is definitely not the time to remember the effect Sam using Dean's name has on him. "How could you do that?"

"It wasn't that big of a deal," he echoes his earlier thoughts. "I have one night stands all the time."

"Yeah but that was before-" Sam cuts himself off, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know what? Forget it." He stands up and heads toward the bathroom.

Dean follows quickly and grabs the door handle before Sam can, slamming it shut, blocking Sam's escape route. "No, we're going to talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" Sam says, and Dean can not believe he just felt his heart break a little at the broken expression in Sam's face. "You're right. You do have one night stands all the time-even with your brother." He laughs bitterly. "I don't know why I expected anything different."

Dean can feel the anger building up, a tension under his skin. "That's not true and you know it."

Sam glares at him, his eyes nearly as bright a green as Dean's. "Oh yeah?" he challenges.

Dean glares back. "What do you want from me, Sam? You want me to give up sleeping with random women? You want me to give up women altogether, just so I can fuck my little brother every night, and watch chick flicks together, and cuddle like fucking girls? Is that how you want it to be? Fine."

Sam's face falls before Dean can do anything to stop it. "Fine," he says, clearly taking Dean's speech as a rejection. He reaches around Dean for the doorknob, and Dean reaches for him.

He spins Sam around and slams him against the closed door, pinning his wrist above their heads. Sam gasps and grabs for Dean's neck with his free hand, fingernails digging into skin. Dean can't feel the pain, or maybe he just doesn't care. Maybe he's even turned on by it. He attacks Sam's lips with his own, his little brother's breath nearly suffocating him in his attempt to get as close as possible.

"So fucking clingy," Dean mutters between kisses, licking at Sam's upper lip. Sam makes a noise like he's dying. "You want me to ignore all the pretty women who are all over me everywhere we go, just so I can throw you down on the bed and take you? Fine. I can do that, Sammy. I can do that, just for you." Dean barely takes a moment to wonder why it doesn't feel like he's giving up all that much before grabbing for his brother's waist and hauling him to the bed.

Sam's hands land on Dean's shoulders, pulling him down and kissing him. Sam practically envelops Dean with his body, grabbing at him as if he wants to get inside Dean. Which doesn't sound like an entirely bad idea right now, honestly, if Dean could tear himself away long enough for that, which he's having a hard time with.

Dean's hands are fisted in Sam's stupid hair, which honestly doesn't seem all that stupid anymore. Dean can feel Sam's moan against his lips throughout his whole body when he tugs gently on Sam's hair. His little brother is rutting up against him like he's going to die if he doesn't, and Dean has never been more turned on in his life. "Easy, sweetheart," he mumbles, and though the endearment is meant to be sarcastic, it doesn't come out that way. "Don't hurt yourself."

Sam just growls and wraps his fingers around Dean's biceps, pushing at him and flipping them over so he's pinned. Sam's got a thigh between Dean's legs, pressed up against him and when Sam moves the slightest bit Dean can't help the moan that escapes his lips.

"Who needs to take it easy now?" Sam growls, and his voice alone nearly forces another moan out of Dean's mouth but he manages to hold it back.

"Fuck you. Pun entirely intended."

"Maybe," Sam grins, kissing him again.

Dean considers fighting for dominance of the kiss, but with Sam's tongue in his mouth, he doesn't really feel that he has the energy or the will to do that right now, so he lets Sam kiss him how he wants, which turns out to be the best decision ever.

When Sam lightens the kiss and cups his jaw tenderly, Dean practically whimpers.

And actually, based on the cocky look Sam is giving him, he guesses that he actually did whimper, in which case he really needs to work on his masculinity, because he's not doing a very good job at that, but the look Sam's giving him right now is almost worth it. No, it is worth it. Somehow.

"Did she take care of you last night?" Sam asks then. "Did she know all the right places to touch you, to get you to fall apart?"

"Sam," he moans, and it's half protest to his words, half agreement with the way Sam is rubbing between his legs.

"Did she, Dean?" Sam's biting at his jaw now, and Dean can't breathe.

"You," Dean gasps, bucking his hips up into Sam's hand. "I was thinking about you the entire time, Sammy, is that what you want to hear?" Sam's low groan tells Dean that that's exactly what he wanted to hear, and Sam presses his face into Dean's neck, breath puffing hotly against his skin.

"I was wishing it was you, Sam." Now that Sam's got him talking about it, he can't seem to stop his emotions from pouring forth, but he's never wanted to let go so badly. Dean has always kept a tight rein on what emotions he'll let himself talk about, let Sam see, but that all seems ridiculous now while he's got his baby brother's hands on him, one on his cock and the other resting over his heart. He feels like the biggest girl in the world, but it's true, and who gives a fuck? He belongs completely to Sam, always has, and Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm yours Sammy," Dean continues to babble in his brother's ear. "Completely and totally yours. Every time she touched me I had to close my eyes and pretend her hands were yours, her mouth was yours. I wish I could take it back, Sammy. I wish I could take it back." He laughs, and it's practically a sob. "You've ruined me, Sam."

Sam's lips are on his, then, possessive and loving and everything Dean could ever want, and everything in Dean seems to be reaching out for his brother. He presses his body flush against Sam's, trying to get as close as he can. He feels Sam's hardness press against his own, which pulls another groan out of both of them.

"I want you," Sam whispers against his lips, grinding his hips down. "Please, Dean."

Something shifts, then, and Dean can feel the control being passed back to him, every part of Sam except his dick going limp and pliant against him. Dean rolls them back over, with less fuel and fire than before, but he's still pressed just as close. "Shh, Sammy," he whispers, pressing a kiss to Sam's cheek, something he hasn't done since they were kids. "You've got me."

Sam makes a noise like a whimper, and Dean smirks. He can't resist the sliver of skin on Sam's belly that his riding-up shirt has exposed, and he doesn't want to, so he presses his tongue there and runs his hands up under the rest of Sam's shirt, pushing it up to his chest. He licks a line up to Sam's heart, right over his tattoo.

"Will my masculinity be in jeopardy if I say I love that we've got matching tattoos?" Dean asks, and Sam grabs his face and pulls him down for a kiss in response. Sam's tongue is like magic, better than anything any witch could ever come up with, and Dean feels like he's been anesthetized; his body falls into Sam's like this is what it was made for, and he can't help but wonder if maybe it was. The word soulmates pops into his head, as he's stripping Sam of his shirt, jeans, underwear, but he pushes it away because there's no way he can deal with that thought again tonight. Not if he wants tonight to happen.

Sam's mouth is such a distraction that Dean doesn't notice that he's being undressed until his shirt is already hiked up around his chest and Sam is tugging at his arms, trying to lift them. He complies and they strip off the t-shirt together. Sam's hands press against his chest, and Dean can't remember the feeling of not having his brother's hands on him.

His fingers are working at the button of his jeans, and Dean has to lift his hips away from his brother's so that Sam can pull them down and off and any second of not being pressed up against Sam can't be worth it, but then there's only a thin layer of clothing between them and, oh, yes, it's totally worth it. Dean can't seem to get his boxers off fast enough, and then they're skin to skin.

Sam wraps a hand around both of them, and Dean revels in the feeling for a moment, until he remembers that he's supposed to be taking care of Sam. Not that Sam had asked him to, but that's Dean's job, and more than that, he wants, needs, to take care of Sam right now.  Even if just to confirm that, yes, he wants Sam, more than some nameless blonde he met in a bar, more than anything in the world.

So he finds the strength to pull away from Sam, and the kicked-puppy look in his brother's eyes nearly makes him fall back into him.

"Don't worry, Sammy, I'm coming right back." He grins at his brother, splayed out on the bed, looking downright fuckable.

He grabs the lube from his duffle and comes back to the bed, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of Sam, stretched out against the pillows. Dean's pretty sure he's never seen a more beautiful sight in his life, and that should worry him more than it does.

When he crawls back onto the bed, Sam immediately reaches for him, and Dean willingly goes into his embrace, allowing himself to be kissed breathless again. When he pulls away, he rests his hand on Sam's thigh, silently reassuring him that he's not going anywhere.

"Come on, spread your legs for me," Dean says, and feels warmth spread in his belly when Sam immediately complies.

After slicking up his fingers, Dean drags them across Sam's hole, working one in slowly, massaging gently. Sam grinds down against it, and Dean can't help the grin that spreads across his face. He takes his time, sliding in a second finger only when he's sure that Sam is ready for it, begging for it.

He takes his time, working his brother open and loose slowly, savoring the moans coming from Sam's mouth, the feel of Sam clenched around his fingers. The last time they did this, it was frantic, impatient, and hotter than any night Dean spent in hell. Metaphorically. But Dean doesn't want to rush this. He can't. With all the talk about how they'll both probably die young, fighting and protecting the earth, and all the times they've both already died, he wants to savor every second he has Sam like this, begging and wanting and so needy underneath his hands and fingers.

So he keeps pushing and pressing and kneading until Sam is moaning, sometimes adding his tongue to the mix, and Dean can see tears starting to build behind Sammy's eyelashes, and Dean's sure no man has ever felt more successful in his life. "Please, Dean," Sam moans for the hundredth time, prompting Dean to lay kisses along Sam's stomach, thighs, knees, and back up to his cock. He can barely believe that he's got Sam all spread out like this, just like this, just for him, waiting and wanting to be fucked.

"Who knew you were so needy, Sammy?" Dean teases with his words and his hands and Sam tries to glare at his brother but his eyes rolling back in his head when Dean hits his sweet spot kind of ruin it.

Fuck you, Sam tries to say, Dean can tell, but it comes out as, "Fuck me," and there's just no way Dean can't agree with that. So he pulls his three fingers out of his brother and crawls back up Sam's body, rubbing their skin together and stealing another suffocating kiss from his lips.

"I got you, Sammy," is the last thing he says before he lines up and slides in.

There is nothing like being enveloped by Sam's warmth, in every way possible, literally, metaphorically, spiritually, fucking emotionally, and Dean is pretty sure their temporary neighbors, if they have any, know exactly what's going on from the noise he and Sam make together. It's like their voices were made to go together, Dean's low growl harmonizing with Sam's high-pitched keen, and there is nothing, nothing in this world that can make Dean feel bad about sounding so sappy right now, because he's inside his baby brother and it feels like heaven. They should both know.

"Sammy." He can't do much more than gasp right now, and Sam responds with a whimper, which Dean makes it his life mission to hear again. He fucks into Sam desperately, needing friction and to feel his brother respond. Sam does.

"Dean I-" Sam starts, breaking off as Dean's angle changes and suddenly he's hitting exactly the right spot to make Sam fall apart.

Dean looks into Sam's eyes as he continues thrusting in and out, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead and pressing a kiss to the spot. His lips move lower, kissing every inch of available skin until he finally gets to Sam's lips. He holds Sam's lips hostage for a minute before he has to let go to breathe.

"I've got you, baby boy," he whispers. "It's okay, I've got you, you can let go," and that's exactly what Sam does, with a shout that's on the verge of becoming a scream. Dean muffles it with his tongue.

The feel of Sam clenched tight around him causes Dean to lose it only a few seconds after, and he comes almost silently, his face pressed to Sam's neck. Sam has one hand cupped around the back of his head, the other resting at the small of his back, and he's whispering in Dean's ear, soothing him through it. Dean's rocking into Sam, arms and legs entwined, riding out the waves together and it feels like it'll never end. Dean could die right now and it would be okay. Screw the angels and their never-ending apocalypse. Screw the demons and the leviathan. Screw the rest of the entire fucking world, Dean only wants Sam.

But it does end, eventually, and Dean has never felt so spent or satisfied in his life. He stays right where he is on top of his brother, because Sam can take it, and he doesn't feel like separating just yet. If they can't become one person, then this must be as close as they can get, and Dean is going to drag it out and enjoy it for as long as possible.

It's weird, Dean thinks, how even though Sam is the one who got fucked tonight, Dean feels so utterly taken care of. He wonders how long they've been that way, or if it's always been that way; Dean going out of his way to take care of Sammy, and Sam taking care of Dean without him even realizing it. When he voices this thought out loud, Sam just laughs and squeezes Dean in a hug that he can't find in himself to object to even though he feels he should, or would've, a few days ago.

After they've been lying there silently for a few minutes, each drinking in the other's company and body heat, Sam shifts uncomfortably and Dean pulls out, making a face at the feeling. Glancing down, he watches as the white stickiness dribbles slowly out of Sam, and he reaches out two fingers tentatively, bringing them to his lips for a taste. Sam watches with a disgusted look on his face, and Dean gives him a shit-eating grin before grabbing his head and forcing him into a kiss.

"You taste good, Sammy," Dean mumbles against his lips, licking his way into Sam's mouth. "Don't you think?" Sam doesn't protest or fight against Dean's tongue, which he decides to take as agreement.

After another few moments of kissing, Dean gets up reluctantly to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. "Maybe next time you'll let me clean you up with my tongue," he says as he cleans Sam up, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Sam wriggles away from Dean's hand, and Dean grins, knowing Sam's on his side for this one. He finishes cleaning himself up before throwing the cloth somewhere in the direction of the floor, and goes back into Sam's open arms.

Dean rests his head on his fist, propping himself up with an elbow, and watches Sam watching him. Sam reaches out a hand, stroking over his lips. "She's gone," he says quietly, referring to the lipstick that had been on Dean's mouth before Sam had kissed it away, and Dean apologizes the best way he knows how by kissing his brother.

They kiss, slow and lazy, until Sam pulls away with a big yawn, causing Dean to laugh. "Get some sleep," he says, and when Sam's eyes flicker to a spot in the room Lucifer must be inhabiting, he puts a hand on Sam's cheek and pulls his face toward him. "Don't worry about him," he whispers to Sam's lips. "I'll be here to protect you. I'm not going anywhere." It's possibly the cheesiest thing he's ever said, but it has the desired effect, and Sam's eyes start to drift closed.

Dean waits until Sam's breathing has evened out before he lets himself rest his head on Sam's chest, falling asleep to the sound of his thumping heart.


End file.
